I Can't Help Myself
by Trust Gavroche
Summary: A series of one-shots in which the all-amazing, too sweet Joly deals with his hypochondrism the fun way, two new Amis are introduced, they play Spin the Bottle, and general craziness takes over. Rated T because I'm overly paranoid.
1. eye lubricant

**AN: So, this is based off of a conversation last night between a friend and I, and I was bored so I decided to make it a work of fanfiction. The only things I own are Joly's lines and the plot...kind of. Victor Hugo and That Creative One have the rights to the rest. Let's see if you can catch the movie reference in here- it's kind of subtle. Anyways, I'm much happier with this one than my last one. Except for how the POV switches around. Also, didn't really know how to end it, so suggestions and tips are more than welcome! There will be another chapter, filled with some of my own ideas. Please enjoy and _review!_ :3**

**-Gav**

* * *

"'M home," announced a rather beat-up looking Bossuet as he limped through the computer room door. His shiny bald head gleamed even more than usual, as there was a nice layer of sweat covering it. His left eye was stained black and blue, quite an impressive bruise, really. Added to the various and pretty random pattern of line-shaped bruises covering his forearms, he looked like he had just gotten owned. He was clutching an ice pack in his hand, presumably for his ankle which was red and swollen. He gingerly made his way over to the corner where Joly was reading a medical book and plopped down beside his friend. "How was it?" inquired Joly, pausing his reading to look up at Bossuet's disheveled face.

"Phenomenal," Bossuet replied, his eyes shining. "We got to practice knife disarming, and our Master said I made an improvement since last time!"

Brushing his dark chestnut bangs from his eyes, Joly set his heavy volume down beside him. "That's great, Bo!" he exclaimed halfheartedly. "You know, you really should be more careful. Too many bruises are definitely not good for your body. And did they sanitize these fake knives? How many people handled them?" Joly's previously unperturbed face wrinkled with concern for his friend.

Bossuet shrugged off Joly's hands with a small smile and turned his attention to his Musichetta, who had her earbuds jammed under her long, ebony hair. "I think we have around twenty-five people in our class. And I'm not sure whether they sanitized them or not."

"You should definitely check with your instructor if they're sanitized or not, because that's a great way to pass germs around and since it's fall there are lost of extra germs floating around and cold outbreaks and bes-" He was cut off by a pastel green ceramic flower that came hurtling through the air. The flower, which had been in Grantaire's hand just moments ago, knocked him on the shoulder. "My flower!" cried Jehan, abandoning his spot on the floor to rush over and pick up the now slightly chipped flower. Cradling it in his arms as if it were a small child, Jehan shot a death glare at Grantaire and returned to his poetry books.

Joly glared at Grantaire too, but there was a hint of gratitude in his eyes. Everything would have gone back to normal if Courfeyrac hadn't decided that this meant "PILLOW FIGHT!" Which resulted in a bunch of sleep-deprived Amis flinging pillows at each other.

Frowning, Combeferre adjusted his wire-framed glasses and scooted further under the desk, completely absorbed in his book and not wishing to be disturbed by the mini-war. He was soon joined by Enjolras, mumbling something about taking studies seriously, and Joly, who only wanted to finish his medical book in peace. While wiping his sweaty, light brown bangs out of his eyes, Combeferre was unlucky enough to be caught by Joly as he rolled his eyes at the fight taking place outside their cozy little under-the-desk world.

"Watch out, _mon ami_, they could get stuck like that," Joly informed his friend with a serious face.

"I don't roll them enough to get stuck," Combeferre replied, already drifting back into the world of his book.

Joly grinned, then quickly set down his book down and pulled out his navy blue, Otterbox-clad iPhone from his pocket, along with a small container of antibacterial wipes, which he used to wipe clean the device before stuffing the wipes back into his pocket. Switching it on, he quickly navigated to the web browser Safari.

The bright light in the normally dim under desk area caused Enjolras's eyes to scan his pamphlet faster, making good use of the light, and caught Combeferre's attention. "Whatcha doing?"

Joly smiled, already tying into the Google search bar. "Looking up eye lubricant."

Peering over Joly's shoulder, the bespectacled student was rather surprised to see that there was, in fact, such a thing as this "eye lubricant," although he didn't much fancy putting lubricant in his eye. Secretly amazed but a shade too shy to show it, Combeferre smirked, "I didn't ask for a medical dictionary, you know." Joly was too engrossed in reading the Wikipedia article about it to respond.


	2. introductions

**A/N: Here we go! I know it's kind of a filler chapter, but things will definitely start picking up in the next one, which will be posted soon. Pretty happy with this one. Reviews appreciated more than you can imagine. :)**

**-Gav**

* * *

Joly's much-needed sleep was interrupted by the loud voice of Courfeyrac. Blinking open sleep-laden eyes, he sat up and stretched out his muscles, which were unbelievably sore from sleeping on the cold, hard tiles patterning the floor of the small room where he spent most of his time. He felt a mess and knew he looked it, with unbrushed cinnamon-colored hair tickling his rosy cheeks and still-squinty eyes.

"...and so I present to you mon ami, Faye," Courfeyrac finished, making a grand gesture and stepping to the side.

A small figure shadowed the doorway, her frame short and rather thin but tough-looking, laced with muscles which could undoubtedly rival those of Éponine. She stepped into the light of the somewhat crowded room, and there were some murmurs from the rest of Les Amis as they all stopped whatever they were doing to look. It wasn't often they had a new visitor. Joly looked at her with a skeptical eye. So far, Courfeyrac's "friends" he brought home were definitely no the brightest crayons in the box. She had long, curly, sepia-colored hair which cascaded down her upright back. The girl's brown eyes were shielded with what Joly could only guess was caution, but there was a fierceness to them, and yet a kindness lurked there too. She looked around at everyone and cracked a half grin. "Heya!"

Always the timid one, Joly watched the reaction of his friends before making any move.

Enjolras glanced up and quickly returned his attention to his work.

Jehan studied the newcomer carefully, a poetic eye quite literally scanning her. "Welcome, mademoiselle," he said with a winning smile, then turned back to his Biography Of A Poet book.

Bahorel raised an eyebrow at Courfeyrac and made a catcall, which caused the girl's pale cheeks to flush a bright rouge.

Mireille brushed her dirty blonde hair out of her eyes and turned in her ebony leather chair positioned in front of a computer. The chair looked like it was about to swallow her, and her feet barely touched the wor,n carpeted ground. "Hi, Faye!" she said warmly, flashing a set of crooked teeth. Joly stifled a grin, he knew the girls always were especially welcome whenever Courf brought home a friend of the female variation.

Feuilly, the "proper gentleman" of the group, walked right up and grabbed Faye's clammy hand in his own calloused one. Shaking it vigorously, he grinned at her. "Hello, Faye! I'm Feuilly," the redhead announced, awkwardly shaking his bangs out of his face. "Hi, Feuilly," the new brunette mumbled with a small smile, obviously surprised by his friendliness.

Bossuet stood up and introduced himself and Musichetta, who grinned at the girl in the doorway from long black bangs.

Marius let out a loud, barking laugh and waved at the new girl. Éponine said nothing, but glanced up from behind her thick glasses and smiled. Something about the girl intrigued her. Cosette simply arched a perfectly waxed eyebrow at the new one, pulling her lips back to reveal perfectly white teeth. Joly admired her pearly whites, but couldn't tell if the blonde was smiling at Faye or baring her teeth menacingly at her.

Finally, Joly pulled himself to his feet, rather awkwardly, seeing that Grantaire was passed out underneath a chair and probably wouldn't be introducing himself anytime soon. "Hello, Faye," he said, moving forward through the Ami-littered room to shake her hand. Feye accepted it with a small nod and smile. Blushing, he realized he'd held on for a second too long and quickly released her hand, stepping back. As he walked over to where his best friends, Bossuet and Musichetta, were sitting (with an earbud in each of their ears, nodding along to some new tune 'Chetta had probably found), he pulled out a pocket-sized bottle of hand sanitizer and smothered the clear, distinct-smelling liquid over his tan hands. There were tons of disgusting little germs everywhere and he ought to be prepared because how knew what diseases they could cause and...Bossuet's knowing smile stopped his train of thought and Joly returned the expression, grateful. Casting a glance back at the newcomer, he noticed a critical look in Faye's eyes that seemed to wonder what was going on. _Oh, great, _Joly thought, biting his lip. _She probably thinks I'm insane, or hate her or something!_


	3. sewer shower (part 1 of story arc)

**A/N: So, I know there were a few typos in my last chapter but ah well. I've been well versed in editing so they shouldn't be as frequent. A shortie, but part of an arc soon to be followed by another chapter. I know this thing is going to have at least 10 chapters. If you like it, please review! Look! I'll give you a hot dog! (/||/) ...I'm artistically challenged. Don't judge. And yeah, I don't like hot dogs either but it was the first thing that popped into my mind. Enough of my rambling, enjoy!**

**-Gav**

* * *

Joly breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped into the shower. The large, overhead, shiny silver showerhead squirted him with hot water cascaded down his heavily mucled back in tiny rivulets. All day, Courfeyrac and Faye had been chasing him around the small confines of the Amis house. They had only caught him four times, but that equaled four very painful chokes. His muscles were sore from constantly being on the move, and his brain was fatigued as well. There were only so many hiding spots and strategies you could use to your advantage when Courfeyrac decided to play his version of hide-and-go-seek. Faye had turned out to be well-versed in the martial arts, and had passed some of this knowledge to various Amis. Grantaire and Bahorel had made the most of it, much to the aggravation of everyone else. He knew he was safe in the shower though, because he had locked the bathroom door and the door handle may or may not have been slippery with hand sanitizer.

He should've been safe...right? Wrong.

Joly had started to get suspicious when he heard a barely audible _click_ from the mahogany cabinet outside his steamy little shower world. Narrowing his eyes, he peered out the hazy glass but could see nothing suspicious. He went on scrubbing shampoo into his sweaty hair, ripping away the disgusting little germs from his body. _Ew, how dare you, you filthy little creatures, get the hell out of my life or else you are going to pay, spreading diseases to everyone, and ew how can you live with yourself, Joly?! You're touching them!_ he thought angrily at the invisible germs. The hypochondriac scrubbed harder, drawing blood from his scalp that mixed with the warm water and turned pink before swirling into the drain. He could just feel them trickling down in his back and into the sewers, _WHERE THEY BELONG! _

He was interrupted from his mental rambling when the clear water of the shower suddenly stopped. Confused, he pivoted on a wet foot to face the showerhead. All of a sudden, his questioning expression was met with a forceful stream of thick, murky...sewer water?! _OH MY GOD, THE FILTH! There could be amoebas and viruses and anything that comes out of the human or not so human body and oh my gosh ew the diseases I could get from this and- _Joly's panicked mind simply froze as the horrific smell and random...things floating in the water splashed in his face. He stepped backward so fast he hit the shower door, banging it open and falling backwards. In the back of his mind, he registered a painful sensation where his lower back had hit the floor, and girlish giggles coming from the cabinet.

A flight of stairs, four astonished looks, and a hastily unlocked sliding glass door later, he was still screaming as he hit the clean water of the pool.


	4. panic (part 2 of story arc)

**A/N: Two chapters in a day, you lucky ducks! The next one is only a few minutes behind. Enjoy, and for the love of France, please review!**

**-Gav**

* * *

The cabinet door burst open, revealing a red-faced Faye and Grantaire. They spilled from the cramped little space and sprawled out on the chilly marble bathroom title, shoulders heaving and stomach muscles sore with laughter. Grantaire's hair was a mess, with curly black locks matted down in some parts and sticking up wildy in others. Faye's wasn't much better- her chocolate-colored curly hair was tangled up like a rat's nest. Tears streamed down their ruddy faces as the pair of pranksters gasped for breath.

"Did...you hear...the scream?" Faye gasped through peals of laughter.

Grantaire nodded, wordless. He knew he should be nice to Joly because of his "mental state," as Bossuet liked to put it, but he was just slightly drunk and had needed a good laugh. He hadn't been sure about Faye at first, but the brunette sure could stand her ground. They had met less than 24 hours ago, and already she had shown most of the Amis a few nifty moves- chokes, armlocks, you name it.

"We'd...better go...make sure he's...okay," panted Grantaire, a smile still spread across his alcohol-stained lips and lighting up his face. He fingered an iPod in his left hand, and noticed it was still recording audio. With a sweaty thumb, he pushed the Stop button and pocketed the device swiftly. Faye nodded and helped the drunkard up, and together they made their way down the carpet stairs, which were spotted with wet footprints from Joly's panicked flight just moments earlier.

They arrived downstairs to find Musichetta and Cosette spraying Joly down with a gray and green-striped garden hose, despite his mumbled protests of what the "garden water" could contain. Much to the prankster's relief, Joly was now clad in bright scarlet swim trunks, undoubtedly Enjolras's.

His trembling arms were pressed to his side, with clammy hands curled into tight fists, with his knuckles turning an unhealthy shade of white. Normally relaxed muscles were tensed up, so much that they looked as if they were going to burst out of his pale skin. His normally cheerful, expressive brown eyes were squeezed shut, and his breathing was coming in short, heavy gasps. He rocked back and forth ever so slightly, not seeming to respond the the kind words of the girls, who were doing their best to calm the poor man down.

The other Amis were trying to appear as if they were concentrating, but their faces were all creased with worry for their friend, who rarely had panic attacks this bad.

Biting his lip, Grantaire shot a glance at Faye, who returned the same worried expression he bore. Maybe they had gone a little too far this time?


	5. apologies (final part of story arc)

**A/N: End of story arc! Yay! This will probably be the last update for a few days, but who knows? Please, please, please enjoy and review! Also, Faye is not my character; she belongs to That Creative One, who is by the way, epically awesome and a great writer. I don't know if "hypochrondism" was spelt correctly, because Doc Manager says it's wrong but the only correction it offers is "hypothyroidism." The confrontation between Bo and Faye/Taire is a little lame, I know. And there will be more fluff in the next chapter.**

**-Gav**

* * *

Two hours later, Joly had calmed down considerably. He was wrapped in a clean, white woolen blanket, his head resting against Musichetta's dainty shoulder. His breathing was still ragged, but the color had returned to his face. He had refused to look at anyone except his partners since the incident. Musichetta was simply holding the still slightly panicked man close, whispering soft words in his ears, which were bright red with embarrassment.

Faye hadn't been with the Courfeyrac's slightly crazy friends for long, but she had known about Joly's hypochrondism. Looking back on the day, she realized that perhaps they_ had_ gone too far. She had teamed up with Courfeyrac early in the morning, and together they had chased Joly through every nook and cranny of the house that Les Amis shared. They had only managed to get ahold of the deft little revolutionary a few times, but that had been enough to put several bruises on his neck and upper arms. It was bullying, she realized. And sure, it had been freaking hilarious at the time, but it wasn't fair.

Grantaire shifted besides her on the worn leather couch, snapping her attention out of the wretched land of regret where she'd been lurking for the past half hour. They had been sitting there for a while, almost as if put up for display. Their shameful faces echoed their thoughts.

The silence was broken by a deep grunt, uttered from Bossuet. The heavily-set man smiled reassuringly at Joly, who managed a tiny ghost of a smile in return. The burly man beckoned for Grantaire and her to follow him.

Taking a deep breath and trying to suppress her fears, Faye stood up and smoothed her shirt down, then followed after Bossuet with Grantaire in tow, her bare feet not making a sound on the old wooden floor. A rather colorful word was uttered when Bossuet stubbed his toe on nothing, but other than that the walk was silent. They reached the small room where Faye had first been introduced to the group of revolutionaries, the only difference from before being that it was deserted. Bossuet suddenly spun around to face them. Faye clenched her fists and braced herself for the shouting, but instead, Bossuet's voice was low and soft.

"Do you realize what you did?" he inquired, clenching his fists at his sides.

The duo nodded meekly.

"You know that Joly's deathly afraid of germs and the like," Bossuet said, his voice still the opposite of yelling, but now with a hint of anger and...sadness? to it. "You know he takes at least two showers every day. Faye, even you have seen what he carries around in his pockets. It's practically a whole first aid slash sanitizing kit! You know how he refuses to see help about it. You know how Musichetta and I are doing out best to help him. You know he can't help himself. I don't know how you hooked the shower up to spray what it did, but..." Bossuet's voice had become dangerously soft as he trailed off, leaving words unsaid that were quite clear.

Tilting her head, Faye saw the man's eyes were filled with...tears? Almost as soon as she finished that thought, Bossuet blinked and they disappeared, now filled with anger. Faye nodded again. "We're deeply sorry, sir. I don't know about Grantaire but-" Grantaire nodded earnestly "-I've given this a lot of thought and I now see that nearly all our actions today were wrong. I guess the wine kind of went to our brains and we took actions that perhaps were not the kindest."

Although still clearly furious, Bossuet cut off her words with a nod. "_Do not _let it happen again."

* * *

After being dismissed and partially forgiven by Bossuet, Grantaire and Faye made their way back to where Joly was sitting with Musichetta.

"Listen, Joly," Faye began, and Joly raised his head and met her gaze tentatively with guarded brown opticals. "We understand what we did was wrong. I know you can't help how you react sometimes and I know Grantaire and I took advantage of that. I'd love to be your friend and maybe even help you, if you will accept my apology," she finished in a rush, her cheeks rouge with the emotions of embarrassment and shame.

Grantaire nodded and exchanged a glance with Joly that clearly stated _What she said. Let's talk later. _Joly nodded, the movement so small that only Faye and Grantaire could see it. The curly-haired man walked off to the kitchen, most likely to find a bottle.

"Apology accepted, mademoiselle Faye," Joly replied, his voice hoarse but his breath smelling of mint mouthwash. He grinned warily. "I know I might have overreacted slightly, so please accept mine as well." He patted the space beside him, and Faye shot him a grateful smile and sat down. They were still chatting an hour later.


	6. spin the bottle

**A/N: So this started out as something really fluffy and mutated into something else. This was written in a somewhat sleep-deprived state. Most of these drabbles are loosely connected. Also, I know there are different ways to play spin the bottle, this is just one of them. I may or may not have overused the "Horizontal line breaks," but whatever. Also, I'm not good at writing lovey stuff but OH WELL, yay for practice! Please enjoy and review!**

**-Gav**

* * *

"I've got it!" Courfeyrac piped up, interrupting several conversations at once. His voice, amplified by his intoxication level, grabbed everyone's attention and held it, almost as if Enjolras was making a revolutionary speech. It was a Friday night at the Musain house, and the living room was filled with Amis sprawled everywhere. Everyone was having a grand old time, including Enjolras, who had a reputation of being a killjoy. Their usual Friday nights consisted of just chilling, but this time they had decided it was time for a change.

Courfeyrac stood up, using the arm of the supple leather couch to balance himself as he started on his way to the kitchen. His friends listened with amused expressions as sounds of crashing came from the pantry. A few seconds later, Courfeyrac appeared, dripping wet and smelling strongly of alcohol. "Anyone got a bottle?"

Grantaire suppressed a grin, putting the evidence together. Courfeyrac had obviously broken the bottle he was trying to reach. _Ah, well, _he thought, _we'll clean it up later. _"I do," he announced in response to Courfeyrac's question. Holding up his half-full bottle of wine, he moved it to his lips and gulped down its remainder. This resulted in a large belch that seemed to fill the room.

"Impressive," Bahorel stated, raising an eyebrow and nodding in Grantaire's general direction. The curly-haired student thanked him with hazel eyes and passed the bottle to Courfeyrac.

Courfeyrac stood up, triumphantly holding the greenish bottle above his head. "Everyone, in a circle! Today, your wonderful host Monsieur Courfeyrac-" here he ruffled his hair and winked "-is bringing to you...a delightful game of Spin The Bottle! Dun dun duuuunn!" Despite some mock groans, the Amis assembled into a circle, partially captivated by Courfeyrac's impressive game show host voice, and partially for lack of anything more exciting to do. Even Enjolras joined.

"Our first contestant will be Monsieur Pontmercy, Marius Pontmercy," he told everyone, dragging out the syllables in Marius's name. With a deep breath and a regretful look splashed across his freckled face, Marius reached out and spun the bottle. Specks of leftover alcohol spattered on everyone as the green bottle whirled around and around and finally pointed its nozzle at...Éponine.

* * *

Éponine could barely contain her delight. Here was the man of her dreams, about to kiss her. Sure, it was "forced," but still...

Heart thudding, she scooted forward and awkwardly met him in the middle, the bottle having been slid aside. Their lips met with force, and she relished the moment. His wide open, blue-green eyes stared into her chestnut-colored ones and conveyed electricity so real it made her tingle. Marius was the one to break the contact, his pale cheeks flushing a bright red and his eyes sparkling.

Cheers erupted from everyone but Cosette, who was staring daggers at the floor.

* * *

Moving clockwise, the next person was Grantaire. Eyes widened, he reached out and spun the bottle. It made a soft rattling sound on the wooden floorboards as its speed slowly decreased and it pointed to a man with long, wild, curly blonde hair and piercing, expressive blue opticals. It was Enjolras. The man of Grantaire's dreams.

* * *

Enjolras's heart thudded so hard he thought it might pop out of his chest. No. How did he wind up here, about to kiss one of the people he despised most? It probably wouldn't have happened if he hadn't drunken that one glass of wine. He took a deep breath, knowing he'd better get this done and over with as soon as possible.

He and Grantaire both leaned forward. The kiss started out tentatively at first, then increased with passion. Both boys shut their eyes, but their contact expressed everything that eyes didn't, and couldn't. Enjolras found himself relishing the taste of Grantaire's lips, which were slightly stained with alcohol. Enjolras had never kissed someone like this before, but instinct told him Grantaire was a good kisser and he simply followed his lead.

It was Éponine's slight giggle that made them break contact. They both slowly retreated to their respective places in the circle. Enjolras's face was akin to marble and let on nothing, but Combeferre and Grantaire could see his eyes shining. As much as he tried to block out the thought, the blonde revolutionary couldn't deny it. Enjolras was in love.

* * *

The next in line- er, circle -was Feuilly. The redhead's cheeks came very close to matching the color of his short, messy hair and he reached forward and spun the bottle with a practiced flick of his wrist. After rotating for what seemed like the umpteenth time, the neck of the green-glassed bottle ended up pointing to Cosette. Both trying to seem as dignified as possible about it, they each leaned forward and kissed each other on the cheek before retreating.

Gavroche was next. The young gamin usually hung out with the Amis for lack of a better place to go. Éponine watched her younger brother with cautious eyes. The small boy stopped leaning on Courfeyrac's shoulder long enough to spin the bottle. It landed on Mireille. Gavroche's heart pounded against his ribs. He'd had a boyish crush on the girl for quite some time now. By the look in the Mireille's eyes that flashed for a second but darted back to the usual coolness, he guessed she felt the same. Having never kissed someone before, they both scooted forwards until their mouths met for one...two...three seconds. Each pulled back with a smile.

Courfeyrac followed, then everyone else, and soon each Ami had kissed twice and spun the bottle once.

* * *

At the end of the night, Courfeyrac was curled up on Jehan's lap, each too engrossed in the other's lips to bother being social with the rest of the Amis.

Feuilly and Cosette had broken the ice and were sitting on the couch, fingers intertwined as they talked a mile a minute to each other.

Grantaire was repeatedly pinching himself to be sure it wasn't a dream- Enjolras, his Apollo, was sitting next to him, the warm heat of the blonde's body seeping through the drunkard's and filling him with happiness. Enjolras had allowed himself to smile and even, although tentatively, hold hands.

Éponine and Marius were shyly chatting with one another about their friendly past, laughing about embarrassing youngster stories.

Gavroche and Mirelle were busy playing Monopoly, with Joly as the banker. Despite shouts of "Ah ha you bastard, have fun landing on MY hotel!" and "Vroche! Where the hel-heck did you learn language like that?!" and "Shut up and take my money, mademoiselle!"

Musichetta and Bossuet wire tossing popcorn into each other's mouths, despite Enjolras's halfhearted grumbles concerning the mess.

Bahorel had been "paired up" by Courfeyrac (of course) with Combeferre. Despite being as different as night and day, the two got along well together- if you could call a heated conversation, complete with raised voices and twitching eyebrows, debating whether words or force was the best way to fight, "liking each other."


End file.
